


Petal

by keelywolfe



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Angst, Enemies to Lovers, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Illness, Pre-Relationship, Spicyhoney - Freeform, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Papyrus (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), papcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 00:50:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17632949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: Hanahaki Disease: a fictional illness caused by one-sided love, in which the victim coughs up flower petals. It ends when either the love is returned or the victim dies.





	Petal

**Author's Note:**

> I'm blaming this entirely on the NyQuil. I've seen some gorgeous art of Hanahaki disease, and it inspired this. It's probably not quite a traditional take on it but this is where my brain took it. 
> 
> I'll say upfront there is illness here, but there is no character death!

* * *

The air in Underswap always seemed fresher somehow, crisper, and Edge had never been able to decide if it was his imagination or not. It didn’t stop him from taking a deep breath of that cold, sweet air as he stepped out of the basement with bags in hand, taking a moment to enjoy the peace of a different Snowdin before making his way to the front door. 

It was time for his weekly cooking lesson with Blue and this week they were making ratatouille at Blue’s pleading request. Edge gathered he’d seen it in a movie and desperately wanted to try it. Edge had agreed, though it was, perhaps not quite a herculean task but certainly a complex one. Supplies were harder to come by in Underfell, but Edge would accept no charity. He would provide for himself and his brother, no matter the effort involved. 

He’d managed in time and, supplies in hand, he knocked briskly on the front door, already looking forward to spending time with the diminutive skeleton. Blue was refreshing, intelligent, and their lessons were always enjoyable. 

Although perhaps not today. When the door opened, Blue didn’t look his normal, exuberant self, only politely holding the door open. “Hello, Edge, come in.”

“What’s wrong?” Edge demanded bluntly the moment the door shut behind him. He had little patience for dragging out the inevitable nor waiting for Blue to dredge up the wherewithal to bring it up himself. 

“It’s Pappy,” Blue confessed. “I’m worried about him. He’s upstairs sleeping—”

“I would have thought that was a normal state of being for him,” Edge scoffed. 

The look Blue gave him was a mixture of chastising and hurt, and Edge felt a trickle of guilt crawl up his spine. No matter what Edge thought of Stretch, he was Blue’s brother and Edge would willingly call Blue a friend. It was passing cruel to mock his concern. 

“My apologies, Blue,” Edge said, sincerely, “Go on.”

“He does nap a lot,” Blue conceded unhappily. “But not like this, he’s hardly been eating, when he goes on sentry duty, he’s been walking…”

“Walking?” Edge interrupted with a frown. Stretch worked along the same theory as his own brother, that shortcuts were made to enhance laziness and he’d never walk when two teleports would do.

“Yes! Do you see why I’m worried?”

Edge glanced up the stairs, considering, “And you’ve spoken to him?”

This time it was Blue who scoffed, “As much as I could. You know what he’s like, talking to him is like trying to solve a maze. Any turn you take could lead to a dead end.”

That much was true, Stretch was an exercise in frustration on many levels. “Do you want me to try?”

“Would you?” The relief in Blue’s eye lights made Edge feel guilty over what had really been a halfhearted offer. He was obviously very worried about his brother; the least Edge could do was give this a few moments of his full attention. 

“Why don’t you get started on the vegetables,” Edge suggested, handing over his own bags. “I’ll see if I can get him to talk a little.”

“All right…Edge?” Blue hesitated at the door of the kitchen. 

“Yes?” Halfway up the stairs, Edge stopped to look back down at him.

“I…never mind,” Blue shook his head, apparently rethinking whatever he was about to say. “Thank you for trying.”

“Of course.” Edge doubted it would amount to much, he and Stretch could barely be called tolerant acquaintances. But if would make Blue feel better, he would at least try. 

Edge squared his shoulders at the doorway, taking firm hold of his temper before knocking. Stretch had a way of burrowing beneath the most iron of control and driving his little sarcastic jibes directly into the most vulnerable places. His knock went unanswered and Edge tried the knob to find it unlocked. 

Gingerly, he pushed open the door and stepped inside. The first thing he noticed was the smell, something lingering in the air that was faintly rank and yet somehow familiar. Clothes and trash littered the floor, empty bottles of honey and dirty socks. He stepped through it, nudging aside anything particularly vile to reach the bed where Stretch was curled up. 

There were no sheets or blankets, nothing but a bare mattress, and Stretch was dressed in his normal attire, a hooded orange sweatshirt and track pants. Stretch was curled in the middle of the mattress with his hood pulled over his skull. His knees were drawn up in a fetal position and his arms wrapped around them. 

“what do you want?” Dully. 

The words startled him, Edge hadn’t even realized Stretch was awake. A closer look showed him that his sockets were open, but his eye lights were unlit. It was possible he could still see, eye lights weren’t strictly required for magical vision, but it was passing odd. None of them ever extinguished them for any length of time aside from sleep. 

“Your brother asked me to check on you,” Edge said frankly. “For some reason, he’s actually concerned about you.”

His laugh was hard and bitter, unnervingly so, even from Stretch. “i bet he is. all worried about me, the selfish, useless ashtray who is nothing to anyone but his brother, isn’t that right? probably be better off if i died, wouldn’t he.”

That took him aback. “I’ve never said such a thing.”

“you so sure about that?”

That tone might have been closer to contempt if it weren’t for the dull resignation in it. It was…possible, Edge supposed, that in a temper he’d implied something of that sort. He didn’t recall half the things he’d said to Stretch in the past, the two of them snarling and sniping whenever they were forced to be in the same room, until the others lost patience with it and stepped in. 

Their last movie night had been two weeks ago, and they’d been in fine form before the film even began; they’d somehow ended up in the kitchen alone for only a moment, Stretch needling Edge with those tiny jabs, about Underfell, about his status as a guard, and--

_haven’t you killed yourself some peace yet, edgelord? Must’ve been a slow week, your lv hasn’t changed._

_At least I’m useful. Tell me, what is it you do to make your world a better place? Even your own brother would be better off without having to pick up your filth. But then, that describes all of you, doesn’t it? There’s nothing but honey and cigarettes to you, you put trash in and leave trash out for your brother to deal with. No wonder he’s so disappointed in you._

Stretch hadn’t said anything else to him the rest of the night. It had been a relief at the time, and he’d enjoyed the company of the others. His words had been cruel but perhaps only a little more so than anything Stretch said to him and—

By his feet, there was something odd on the floor that wasn’t discarded trash or clothes. Grayish and curled, it looked like a dried leaf or some sort of flower petal, and Edge leaned over to pick it up gingerly between two fingers. As he touched it, it crumpled away to pieces. 

No. To dust.

Edge went cold, his reluctant concern shifting to sudden fear. 

Catching Stretch by the shoulder, he pulled him to lay on his back, ignoring his feeble resistance. He struggled harder as Edge straddled him, pinning him down, his eye lights finally lighting in dim, pale orbs. “what the fuck are you—"

Without preamble, he yanked Stretch’s sweatshirt up to his collarbone. His soul, tucked safely behind his ribcage, should have been a pristine silver, glistening with the purity that came with a lack of LV.

Instead, it looked like a dying flower. More of those petal-like curls were peeling grotesquely away from the surface and he saw one flutter loose, drifting to the bottom of his rib cage to join others that were already there. As he watched, another collapsed to dust.

The smell, that strange familiarity, clicked into place in his memories; it smelled like New Home in Underfell, like dust, like _death_. Whatever was wrong with Stretch, he was dying, and Stretch only laying sullenly beneath him, not struggling, not fighting…until a sudden cough wracked him, and a whirlwind of those ‘petals’ were torn loose in front of Edge’s horrified gaze. 

It must have been painful, because as his cough eased, Stretch grimaced, one hand clutching at his rib cage. His eye lights dimmed away again and now Edge wondered if he couldn’t keep them lit, he wasn’t teleporting lately, Blue had said, perhaps he _couldn’t_ , his magic weakened, and his soul was _dying_. 

Edge didn’t waste another moment in scooping Stretch into his arms, despite his feeble struggles. Any resistance faded before they even made it down the stairs. He ignored Blue’s startled exclamation and carried Stretch out the door, paying little mind to the curious stares of the residence of Underswap Snowdin as he made his way down the pathway that he knew led to the river boat. The basic layout of their worlds remained the same and strangely, the Riverperson was also unchanged, offering peculiar advice with a tra la la no matter what the universe. 

They didn’t even nod as Edge stepped into the boat with his burden, only giving them time to settle before they set off. 

“where are we going?” Stretch asked, weakly. He’d long since given up struggling. 

“To the lab in Hotland,” Edge told him curtly. He was prepared for arguments, but none came, and that was perhaps the most disturbing thing yet. Stretch would have argued against water being wet with him on any other day, and now Edge was manhandling him along without a single protest. 

Either he’d accepted that he needed help or he’d given up, and Edge didn’t care to know which it was. 

There was only one person in this world who might know how to help with whatever was wrong and that was Alphys. No, it was Undyne in this world, wasn’t it? Edge had only met her once, but he certainly trusted her uncertain gaze more than he did the insanity of his own Alphys. 

Stretch sagged suddenly, whatever tension he’d been carrying draining away, his head resting on Edge’s shoulder, “why do you even care?"

“Why do I care?” Edge’s control on his temper was frayed with concern. He barely knew the answer himself, could only bite out, “I come to your home, accept your hospitality, I eat your food and you ask me why I care? You’re infuriating and obnoxious, every part of you aggravates me, but that’s no different from my own brother. Why do you believe I don’t care?”

“you don’t.”

“I am currently on a boat, carrying you,” Edge snarled out, “Perhaps you can listen to what I am saying to you? I care.” He hesitated, then carefully shifted a hand to cup the back of Stretch’s skull. The smooth bone felt too cool, magical warmth leeched away. He was dying and perhaps it was that, or perhaps being in the strange presence of the Riverperson drove others to do uncharacteristic things because Edge found himself saying, “I shouldn’t have said what I did about your brother, it wasn’t true. You could stand to help out around the house more,” Edge grimaced, remembering the state of Stretch’s room. “But I know how much you care about him. You showed me that when you asked me to take lessons with him.”

It had been one of the few relatively peaceful conversations they’d ever had. Stretch discreetly and tersely asking if he might willingly come over occasionally to cook with his brother. 

_“blue’s pretty fond of you and…he could use a cooking buddy other than alphys.” He’d grimaced at that and Edge wondered how terrible those meals had been. Bad enough that Stretch was showing enough vulnerability to ask a favor._

_“You’re asking me to come over here more often?”_

_“for my bro? hell, yes, i am. at least i know you can cook.” Stretch hesitated then added almost defiantly, “it’d make him happy.”_

And Edge had agreed, leading them to their weekly meetings. 

“I couldn’t possibly not care about you, for that alone,” Edge explained, softly, remembering. “Anyone who cares about Blue the way you do deserves some affection.”

“oh,” Stretch grimaced and clutched at his chest as he had before, and that dimming fear flared back to life. 

“Does it hurt?” Edge demanded, ready to yank Stretch’s sweatshirt up to see for himself. 

“no. no, actually, that feels a little better.”

Bewildered, Stretch lifted the hem of his shirt on his own, revealing to both of them that some of those strange, curling petals had tightened, fading back into his soul. It wasn’t whole yet, but it looked better than it had.

Stretch let his sweatshirt fall back into place, closing his sockets. To Edge’s surprise, he leaned into Edge, settling his skull against his shoulder. Automatically, Edge tightened his arm around him, holding him in. It felt…strange, to hold Stretch, but not exactly wrong. 

Shaking his head a little, Edge dismissed the thought. They’d see Undyne and perhaps she would know what illness was plaguing Stretch and how to treat it. 

In his arms, Stretch felt a little warmer, a little more alive, and that knowledge sent a bleat of warmth into his own soul that made him want to rub his own chest in confusion. He hadn’t lied about caring, he did, for Blue’s sake if nothing else, and yet, what was—

Not that it mattered. He was going to be fine, Edge told himself, absently stroking his thumb along the smooth curve of his skull. Blue wasn’t going to lose his brother and Stretch would be back to normal, his same snarky self, smoking too much, drinking too much, and that was that.

If only that thought didn’t send a pang to his soul, the opposite of the previous warmth. That pain lingered a bit, like a pinch. Not so terrible that Edge couldn’t ignore it, especially with Hotland coming into sight. That was where his answers lay. 

He hoped. 

-fin


End file.
